Me and the Virgin Mary stepped out for a cigarette.Hadn’t seen one another in years.Cara, she asked with that same serene smile,y’keeping well?I’m so damn sorry about your boy.You knowI knowjust how you feel.She embraced me and I sankinto that shadowy time.Forever invoking the immortal griefof Michelangelo’s Pieta.A young son drapedlike a napkin of tragedyacross his mother’s lap.We know what it is to touch a place so deep,one can no longer breathe,she whispered.When that elevator descendswithout an end,reach for me.Cara, she said, extending those perfect chiseled hands,I’ll be there to care for you.To show you the way back up.A gasp of divine airthawed my paralytic lungs.Me and the Virgin Mary crossed paths at the Piazza Navona,I offered her my apricot gelato.We strolled all the way to the coliseumcelebrating a thousand anniversaries.Across the ages, across generationsAll those newborns with the promise of a mighty life.All those headfirst dives into the lightness of our world,Brimming with nothing but possibility.Where do all those possibilities and all that promise go,when the babies are no more? I asked.Angels sped by on motorbikesand as quickly forgotten.Last night, I ran into the Virgin Mary in Mexico City.She was standing in an alcove at Casa Azul.Got a smoke for an old pal?She asked.Couple of mothers, aren’t we?Just look at us,still breathing strong,when we swore there wasn’t a chance.